Strike a Match

by Fiona Riley

  Sasha stretched and rolled her shoulders. Her neck was killing her from sleeping upright in this chair. “Hi.” Her voice was gravelly with sleep.

  “You know that chair is a recliner, right? I’m pretty sure it pulls out into a full bed.” Abby gave her a small smile and patted her arm.

  Sasha yawned. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping. But you make a good point.”

  Abby nodded toward her father. “How’s he doing?”

  Sasha looked to her right and assessed the situation. Someone must have come in and adjusted her father’s pillow while she slept. The volume of the monitors seemed to be lower as well. “No change. He’s being sedated until they can get a handle on the infection. The machines are helping him breathe. It’s just a waiting game now. He’s got to let his body do the work to get better.”

  She felt like she was having an out of body experience. Her strong, construction foreman father looked so frail and small in that bed. His muscular frame had dwindled over the years of the disease’s progression. His skin was so pale it was almost clear. Sasha felt her lip tremble but didn’t have the energy to resist the emotions.

  Abby stood and embraced her. That was the final straw for Sasha—all the tears she had kept at bay in front of her mother spilled out in that moment. How could this be happening? How was it that just days ago she and her father were joking about Family Feud and today he was in a coma? What was she going to do without him?

  “Sh, sh,” Abby soothed in her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Sasha wanted badly to believe her. She just nodded and let herself be held. There was nothing she could do and that’s what hurt the most.

  Abby caressed her hair and rubbed her back. Sasha slowed her breathing and tried to compose herself. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt this tired before, and considering the number of overnights she did on the job, that was a feat. “Thanks.”

  Abby pulled back and gave her a sad smile. “Sure thing. I’m here, okay?”

  “Okay.” Sasha took the opportunity to take Abby in. She was a natural beauty—that was something Sasha had never missed about her. She wore minimal makeup, and it suited her. Her blond hair was half up in a delicate, twisting braid that kept the hair off her forehead and out of her eyes. Those eyes looked at her closely now, the green vibrant today against the color of Abby’s shirt. Sasha made no attempt to conceal her admiration. Seeing Abby felt like a breath of fresh air. “You’re beautiful.”

  Abby blushed as she brushed a stray hair behind Sasha’s ear. “So are you.”

  Sasha smiled the first genuine smile she had in days. She reached for Abby’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.” Abby rubbed her thumb along Sasha’s cheek before she stood back up, her fingers loosely entwined with Sasha’s. “Hungry?”

  She was hungry for a multitude of things at the moment. She tried to relay that information to Abby, holding Abby’s gaze as she spoke. “Yes.”

  Abby paused and nodded almost infinitesimally. She leaned forward and kissed Sasha gently, holding her lips against Sasha’s, her breath skating across Sasha’s lips, helping to ground her. It was exactly what Sasha needed in that moment but didn’t know how to ask for.

  Sasha kissed her back and smiled against her lips. “Much better.”

  Abby giggled and pulled back. “Now, how about some food?”

  “Yes, please.” Sasha released Abby’s hand so she could reach into the bags she’d carried in, but she missed her touch immediately. She was surprised how relieved she felt with Abby here. She warmed her.

  *****

  “Wait. Tell me again. He did what?” Abby stole a fry off Sasha’s plate and waited for her to continue. They sat at the little table in the corner of Sasha’s father’s room where Sasha was telling her all about the time her father rescued their cat from the tree in their neighbor’s yard.

  “I shit you not. He’s in his boxers just after dawn on a stepladder that was far too short for the tree in question. And the whole time I’m crying and screaming because Mr. Wadsworth is climbing higher and higher, wailing the whole time.” Sasha dipped her fry in to the ketchup dish between them and shook her head. “The long story short is that my father ended up in the tree with the cat, and my mother had to call the fire department to get them both down. That was my first experience with firefighters. Needless to say, it was a memorable one.”

  “And you loved it ever since?” Abby was glad to see the smile back on Sasha’s face again. She had observed her for a few minutes when she’d arrived before she woke her. Sasha looked like she needed the rest—dark bags were under her eyes even as she snoozed. Seeing Duncan on the machines and monitors reminded Abby of her father in his final days. She remembered the exhaustion and the feeling of endless sorrow that followed his passing. There was no way around it—losing your parent sucked every day no matter how much time had passed. She hoped Duncan’s outcome would be different from her father’s, if only for Sasha’s sake alone. Abby had seen the devotion in her face when Sasha had tried to fill her in on what happened. She saw Sasha break then, too. It was devastating.

  “Ha. Not quite.” Sasha offered Abby a sip of her fountain soda and Abby took it while Sasha spoke. “Remember at the glassblowing, how I mentioned I was afraid of fire?”

  “I remember a lot about the glassblowing. Sometimes I let myself be reminded in the shower and before bed.” Abby shrugged, pulling on the straw with her lips before handing it back to Sasha.

  Sasha’s eyes flashed and she shook her head while taking a sip. “You’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you?”

  Abby fluttered her eyelashes as innocently as she could. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But yes, I remember. Please, continue.”

  Sasha reached across the table and stroked Abby’s fingers as she spoke. “I was afraid of fire for a long time because a few summers after the Adventures of Mr. Wadsworth and the Tree, we had a pretty significant house fire and lost just about everything.”

  “Oh, Sasha. I’m so sorry.” Abby was glad to be close enough to take Sasha’s hand.

  Sasha looked over at her father and sighed. “My father ran back into the house to save the family photos and make sure the cat got out. And he did. That damn cat had nary a singed fur on his tail and all of my baby photos survived the fire. But my father was badly injured—he had burns along his chest and arms. But the real damage was in his lungs. He had such bad smoke inhalation damage that his lungs and throat scarred over. He had surgery after surgery to release the scar tissue and try to repair the damage from the fire, but he eventually developed this respiratory disease.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye with her free hand. “My father was a strong, strapping man. He was a general contractor and foreman for a large construction company and he was invincible. But over the years since the fire, slowly he started getting sicker and weaker. He got hit with bouts of pneumonia and bronchitis more and more often. He had to be hospitalized for long periods at a time, on steroids and antibiotics around the clock. At first he needed oxygen at night to help him sleep, but soon it was oxygen with activity, and then oxygen all the time. Everything changed for my family after that one night.

  “So yeah, for a long time I was afraid of fire. That’s why I got into firefighting—because the firefighters saved my father’s life, but also because my father always told me to tackle my fears head-on. To take the power away from them.” She looked back at Abby, the sadness from before settling heavily on her face. “But none of it seems worth the life of that stupid cat or a couple hundred pageant photos of me as a little kid, does it?”

  “I bet he doesn’t see it that way.” Abby took a shot in the dark with that one, but if Duncan was as devoted to Sasha as she clearly was to him, then she had no doubt in her mind that he would have moved heaven and earth for her. “I bet he thinks you’ve taken a brave and selfless job to help others, and I bet he treasures those photos. I’m sure you do too now, as well.�
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  “You’re probably right.” Sasha sighed and finished off another french fry. “You know? That damned cat lived to be twenty-one years old.”

  “Now you’re lying.” Abby teased and was glad to see a small smile on Sasha’s face again.

  “I swear to you—he lived to be twenty-one and never missed a meal in his life. It’s a friggin’ miracle he got up into the tree to begin with because even as a little guy he weighed eighteen pounds at least.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Sasha chuckled. “Well, thanks to Dad, I’ve got pictures to prove it.”

  “I’d like to see them sometime.” Abby meant that.

  Sasha nodded. “I’d like to show them to you.”

  They sat quietly for a few moments before something occurred to Abby. “Did you say pageant photos?”

  Sasha winced. “Ooh, you caught that, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. Details, please.”

  The door to Duncan’s room opened and an older woman entered. She was weary but still beautiful, and her resemblance to Sasha was clear in the woman’s strong cheekbones and sculpted brow line. This must be her mother.

  “Hey, Ma.” Sasha went to her, hugging her for a minute and carrying her bags over to where Abby was seated.

  “Hello.” The older woman gave her a curious smile. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Abby took her hand and shook it. “Abby Rossmore. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Sorry, where are my manners? Ma, this is Abby. Abby this is my mother, Valeria.” Sasha winked at Abby and pulled up a chair for her mother.

  “I’ve heard good things about you, Abby.” Sasha’s mother gave her a tired but friendly smile.

  “Sasha was just about to tell me about her apparent past in the pageant circuit.” Abby hoped with Valeria here, she’d get the full scoop.

  “Was she now?” Valeria looked amused. “Sasha was quite the showboat. She had trophies and awards in every category at every age. She could twirl a baton like no one else. But it was her Irish step dancing that drew the most attention.”

  “Shut up. You can Irish step dance?” Abby’s mouth was practically on the floor. She didn’t bother to close it.

  Sasha looked shy. “I used to be able to. Much to the chagrin of my Russian ballerina mother. Irish step dancing was…What did you call it, Ma? The devil’s jig?”

  Valeria laughed. “I only called it that to piss off your grandmother. She was obsessed with your father and his Irish heritage. We nearly came to blows over her enrolling you in that jig class. Joke was on me though—you loved the little flowing skirts.”

  “I need to see these pictures.” Abby could almost picture Sasha as a little girl, dark hair in pigtails, flouncy bouncy skirt, and tap shoes. “You must have been adorable.”

  “Hey.” Sasha looked scandalized. “I’ll have you know I am still adorable.”

  After watching Sasha’s interaction with her mother, Abby decided she was right.

  Valeria looked over at Duncan with fresh tears in her eyes. “How is he?”

  Sasha exhaled. “No change. Vitals are good, urine output is appropriate. I’m getting the feeling that this is the uninterrupted nap he kept complaining that he needed.”

  Valeria smiled at her daughter. “You have his humor, but thank God you have my good looks.”

  Sasha blew her mother a kiss. “What’s in the bags, Ma?”

  “All your father’s favorites. Including those cookies from above the fridge that I see you have been helping him to.” She narrowed her eyes at Sasha and Sasha shrugged.

  “I surely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Surely.” Valeria rolled her eyes. “I brought a few changes of clothes and that awful album your father likes.”

  “The one with the drunk guy singing ‘Danny Boy’?” Sasha rifled through the bag’s contents and pulled out a battered CD case. “Jackpot.”

  Valeria shuddered. “You and your father have the same taste in music—awful.”

  Sasha turned to Abby. “My mother is much more dignified in every aspect of life. Right down to her love of Tchaikovsky.”

  Abby appreciated their banter. It reminded her of the relationship she had with her own mother. Which was why she had come here in the first place—to tell Sasha about her mother. Well, that and offer moral support. Both of which would have been a lot easier if Sasha’s father hadn’t been admitted to the hospital that Abby’s great-grandfather built and her family’s foundation ran. Of all the hospitals in Boston, why did he have to end up at Davenport Memorial? Probably because it was the best. Dammit.

  Valeria looked at the remnants of their dinner. “Are you still hungry?”

  Abby patted her stomach. “Oh, no. I’ll bust, but thank you.”

  Sasha’s eyebrow raised. “What do you have to offer, woman?”

  “Your grandmother’s Irish whiskey cake.” Valeria placed the tinfoil-wrapped dish on the table.

  “Devil’s jig cake for the win.” Sasha high-fived her mother and turned to Abby. “You have to try some of this. It’s out of this world.”

  Abby believed that it probably was.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They keyed into Sasha’s family home and she gave Abby a quick tour.

  “This is the kitchen, over there is the den. My parents’ bedroom is on the first floor by the enclosed sunporch. My childhood bedroom, a guest room, and the office are upstairs.” Sasha went to the sink and closed the window, making sure to lock it.

  Her mother had sat with them for a while at the hospital but sent Sasha home, saying she would do the overnight with her father tonight. Sasha had protested, but her mother had been adamant, saying it was her husband and she would spend the night with him. Sasha had been pretty sore about it until her mother remembered that she had left most of the windows open on the first floor. There was a storm threatening and she wanted Sasha to swing by the house and lock everything up tight. At least then Sasha felt like she was being useful.

  “Do you live here still?” Abby leaned against the entryway in the kitchen, as her father had so many times before to catch his breath. She tried to push those memories away.

  “No. I haven’t lived here since I got out of the fire academy. I have a place about fifteen minutes away, but I spend a few nights a month here, off and on, if my mother needs a night off or picks up a shift to make extra money. My father really can’t be alone.”

  Abby nodded. “Why move out at all?”

  Sasha finished closing the downstairs windows and stood in the den. “For a multitude of reasons. First and foremost because I’d never get laid in my childhood bed with my parents downstairs. Ever.” She winked and Abby laughed. She could listen to Abby laugh all day—it was quickly becoming one of her favorite sounds.

  “Secondly, my firefighting gear has a tendency to off-gas even after it’s been washed at the station. The smells irritate my father’s asthma and makes his breathing more difficult. But at my apartment I leave my gear and clothes in the hallway outside the back door, so the smell doesn’t fill my entire apartment. It’s hard enough getting the smell of smoke out of my hair—it never leaves my clothes.”

  “What does off-gas mean?” Abby was never shy about asking Sasha things about her job, and she appreciated her interest.

  Sasha settled on the couch and motioned for Abby to join her—her fatigue was winning out, and she needed to sit. “It’s the gas given off as a byproduct to a chemical process. Which in layman’s terms means it’s stinky and can be toxic. Most of us shower after shift and keep a change of clothes in our lockers, but occasionally I’ll pop home in my blue uniform that you saw at the school, and that can be a little funky at the end of a twenty-four-hour shift.”

  “I see.” Abby sank onto the couch near her, but not touching her. Sasha rectified this by reaching out and pulling Abby closer. Abby settled into her side and rested her head on Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha could feel the heat of Abby’s body against her own.
It soothed her. She felt sleepy.

  “You didn’t have to come back to my parents’ house to help me close the windows, you know. I probably could have managed on my own.” Sasha pressed a kiss to Abby’s head. She breathed in the scent of her shampoo and felt the stress of the day start to melt away.

  “Oh, it was completely selfish. I have an agenda here.” Abby looked up at her.

  They were so close, Sasha knew if she leaned a little closer, their lips would touch. She moved in a bit, stopping short of her goal. “Oh? And what agenda is that?”

  “To see your pageant photos, of course. Duh.” Abby pecked her lips and laughed as Sasha tickled her sides.

  “I knew it was too good to be true.” She continued to tickle Abby as she squirmed next to her.

  “What is?” Abby swatted her hands away, gasping to catch her breath. “What’s too good to be true?”

  “You.” Sasha hadn’t meant to reveal that, but she’d thought it since their dinner at the café in Cambridge. Abby was perfect. She backpedaled. “You, joining me to be helpful, I mean.”

  Abby’s face was unreadable for a moment. Sasha got a little anxious, worried that she’d shared too much of herself. And yet, tonight Abby had met both of her parents, well, sort of. The overshare part seemed to be behind them. Sasha couldn’t remember the last woman she’d introduced to her parents. And no one had seen her be as vulnerable as she had been at her father’s bedside. Abby was different. And she liked that about her. She didn’t mind sharing things with her.

  “Oh, I have full confidence that if I hadn’t breached the threshold under the pretense of being helpful, you never would have shown me those photos. I’m on a mission here. Nothing will stop me.” Abby laughed manically and Sasha rolled her eyes.

  “They’re in the fireproof cabinet over there, by the front door. Close to the exit in case of a fire emergency.” Sasha waved toward the black box by the stairwell and Abby scampered over to it. She gave Abby the code, and within minutes Abby had the books spread out on the coffee table in front of them, asking questions and exclaiming over Sasha’s outfits. It would have been embarrassing if Sasha hadn’t been so damned cute. She patted herself on the shoulder when one little nude tub photo from her first birthday made its way into Abby’s hands.